The Difference Between Michael and a Bandit
by Satan Abraham
Summary: Nearly drowning can bring awkwardness, and bad jokes at one's expense. [michael/fisk] [oneshot]


"You're an idiot."

This seems to Fisk's usual perception of me, though in this situation I would be hard pressed to disagree with him, for he had just pulled me out of the river. I had nearly drowned – and I'm fairly certain that I would have had he not helped me, magic or no magic. Fisk is still glaring, though I'm not sure if he's mad at me for falling in the river or angry because he had to get wet whilst rescuing me.

I don't answer him, though, because I'm not quite sure how I should be answering that.

"I've got a good one for you, Noble Sir," he says. He leans forward, and were I not shivering so much I would probably get up and go care for the horses or something of the sort to escape the oncoming stupid joke. "What's the difference between you and a bandit?"

I sigh. "What is it?"

"I risk my life less when I'm dealing with bandits."  
>Perhaps I deserved that one.<p>

Though 'twas not my fault that I fell in the river. I'm still not quite sure how that happened.

"Well," I say. "What's the difference between you and a bandit?"

He eyes me, and I'm not quite sure I have an answer for my own joke that won't set him off. But I figure that he deserves it, for that last one.

"If you say 'nothing,' I'm leaving."

"No, you won't," I say. "That would practically condemn me to freezing."

"Yes, I very much will. I am done with burgling, and anyway, there is a difference between a _bandit _bandit and myself. Bandits do it for the fun. I-"

"Don't tell me you don't have fun," I say. "You get _very _into it-"

"You're going to freeze to death," he says, and I blink. While he's not wrong, I was not quite expecting him to do anything about it. But he does. I am already stripped down to near nothing and I have all of our blankets piled on top of me, though my teeth are still chattering and if I look close the skin beneath my fingernails is blue, so there isn't much else we can do. But he strips down, too, and I raise an eyebrow. "Body heat."  
>"Body heat?"<p>

"'twill do more for you than those blankets," he says, and he yanks the blankets off of me and replaces them when he's inside. It isn't totally uncomfortable, if a bit awkward – we're all cocooned up, and though we are wearing the basest clothing, it isn't much. As well as that, his elbow is sharp and jabbing into my ribs. I think he's doing it on purpose.

Though it is quite a bit warmer.

And if he is willing to do this, I can get something out of it. So I use his shoulder as a pillow and decide that I'll sleep there, all wrapped up and warming more by the second, and when I wake up he's swearing rather loudly.

"I have a better answer for the one I asked last night," Fisk says, and I'm ready to groan, but he continues faster than I can even ask 'what.' "I don't want to kill bandits as much as I want to kill you. My arm is asleep. You're warm now, and in no danger of freezing, and your head is hard and heavy and I cannot breathe."

I blink a few times, and my leg is trapped beneath him. That will make escaping difficult, I believe. That as well as the fact that the blankets are twisted so tight around us that _that _may be the reason that Fisk cannot breathe and _not _my supposedly hard, heavy head.

I do try to escape, to my credit. Fisk is absolutely no help, though with our position he could at least try to kick the blankets away or something like that. But he just lies there and complains, and eventually I give up and rest my forehead against his collarbone. It's very sharp and not the most comfortable of resting places.

He is very warm. I'll give him that much. Though he could smell better, but I suspect that we both smell like the river.

"What are you doing?"

"You're not being any help," I say. I'm a bit helpless at the moment, actually. I'm fairly certain his heart his beating faster than it should. Either he's feeling weird about our nakedness or he's just very, very angry.

Possibly both.

I must admit, I'm starting to feel a bit awkward about our nakedness. Normally there wouldn't be anything about it – but we're so pressed together that 'tis hard to not think about. He is shorter than me, but a bit broader – his muscles aren't quite so defined as mine, he's just average-sized and I'm normally a bit lanky – and if his collarbone wasn't so sharp he would be quite comfortable to rest on. But I look up and his mouth is pressed together and he's glaring and the thought to kiss him flits through my head.

And then it leaves, and I'm left a little baffled. I would mention it, but I have a feeling that Fisk will amend his 'bandit and Michael' joke again.

So I simply do what will shock him into _not _amending it, and I actually do kiss him. Which does shock him – he manages to get out of the blankets rather fast, though as we're dressing he manages to think of a thing.

"What's the difference between you and a bandit?"

I sigh, but I ask what I'm supposed to ask. "What?"

"A bandit's a better kisser."

* * *

><p><strong>I just finished Scholar's Plot, and I was really feeling this. Also, I think I like Michael more now. Which is weird.<strong>


End file.
